


Small vengeance with fries

by Kleine_kat



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Weird undercover restaurant porn, but not part of that series though, more or less a companion piece for the best laid plans chap 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:10:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kleine_kat/pseuds/Kleine_kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lizzie and Ressler are in a restaurant. Might just happen during chapter 8 of The best laid plans, if everyone was acting wildly out of character.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small vengeance with fries

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so this is the little scene that infiltrated my brain when I was working on chapter 8 of The Best Laid Plans, and even though it doesn’t really fit, and is therefore not part of that series, I’ll post it for those who like pr0n. After all, I wrote it down, might as well put it up, too.  It is, like all the sex scenes I write, awkward and strange. I can’t seem to do them differently—and that’s fine, I’m happy writing weird sex.  
> Anyway. Restaurant. Burgers and fries. Ressler and Lizzie, or rather, Aaron and Nicky, sitting side by side because that way you can discuss secret FBI business much more secretively.

Lizzie studied her burger with a pensive frown. One would think she’d had enough burgers and fries to last her a lifetime; and after today she should be feeling angry and frustrated with their lack of progress, but somehow she was feeling almost giddy with…well, being where she was, with whom she was, and with what she’d done.

They were just being so _badass_! It wasn’t right, and she shouldn’t feel that way, but ghosting into Anasenko’s flat, sneaking around…And the whole thing with the clothes and the character and the Harley…It was so nice not to be Elizabeth Keen for a while. Liz Keen, who didn’t have a life, didn’t have any friends she trusted, and changed houses every month. Being Nicky Coxx was so much easier. She had a boring job and a small place and she dressed in very small dresses—as testified by what she was wearing right now—and she had a boyfriend any girl would know was trouble, and stuck with him when he was around because…Because every girl secretly wants a bad guy.

And it was so nice that Ressler didn’t suck at being a bad guy. And that he had that Harley.

After a while, Ressler looked up, caught her stare, smiled a little and shook his head. “We really shouldn’t.”

Lizzie reddened, but asked nevertheless, “Shouldn’t what?”

“Fuck.”

Oh. Well, at least they were on the same wavelength. “I know. What made you think I wanted to…”

“You have a specific way of looking at me,” he said, sounding pleased with himself.

“Oh, really. I have a way of looking at you that makes you think ‘Huh, she’s hot for me.’”

“Yes.” He picked up another French fry, dipped it in ketchup and munched it, licking the ketchup off before chewing.

“Well,” she said, because she was feeling argumentative and the fact that he was probably right made her feel both hornier and annoyed, “it’s not you, if you must know. It’s your stupid Harley.”

“My bike turns you on?” he marvelled. “Huh. Guess it has more sex appeal than me.”

“Yes,” she said snappily. “It does.”

Ressler ate more fries. He wasn’t exactly smiling, but he radiated an insufferable smugness. Smug was not an expression that sat comfortably on his face. “So,” he said slowly, “what exactly is it you find so attractive about my Harley?”

She snorted. “Like I’m going to tell you.”

“Is it the long, gleaming front suspension with those supple rubber fork boots? Or the sweetly curved crash bar?”

_EH???_

“Perhaps it’s the way I handle the hand clutch that makes you feel all warm inside.” With that, he carefully licked the fingers of his left hand clean of salt and grease and slid them neatly beneath her little skirt and between her legs.

Lizzie froze. Ressler regarded her with his head tilted a little to the side. “Bar table,” he said pleasantly. “No one can see I haven’t just put it on your knee.” He reached a little further until the tips of his fingers brushed the crotch of her panties. She still didn’t react, so he pushed a few millimetres further, stroking gently.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Lizzie said between gritted teeth.

“Bringing you off in public.” One of his fingers traced the edge of her panties, where it met the crease of her thigh, then slipped under it. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Yes,” she bit out, but when he pulled back she closed her thighs, trapping his hand between them.

Ressler mm-ed. “It seems we are at an impasse,” he said softly. “You, your legs and me.”

“God damn it, what’s wrong with you?”

“With me? I don’t know. Maybe I’m feeling vengeful.”

“For what? For me talking dirty and you liking it?”

“Maybe.” He wriggled his fingers, and her traitorous thighs opened on their own accord. She couldn’t help it; this was just so bizarre she couldn’t do anything but play along.

Ressler smirked, brushed his thumb along the lining of her panties a few times, stroking in and up towards her belly. “This seems to be working for you?”

“I didn’t get much, this morning,” she bitched back, even though it was stupid to try and blame him for her own outrageous response to…whatever the hell this was. Dear god, he was not lying, it was working all right; if he went on like this she might start to make squelching sounds.

“Ah. Poor you. So you’ve been in this state since morning.”

“No, I haven’t!” she hissed, and then jolted as he thumbed the fabric of her panties aside and rubbed one finger against flesh. And she really should stop, and pull away, and punch him in the mouth; but instead she spread her legs a little wider and gave him better access.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, went his finger, the tip circling her clit with maddeningly light touches. He used his other hand, above the table, to dip another fry in ketchup, and again licked it clean before eating it.

“You know,” he said conversationally, “I never thought I’d ever do this, to you of all people, in a restaurant.”

“I must confess I’m somewhat surprised as well,” Lizzie returned. She tried to keep her tone nice and even, but it was becoming more and more difficult. She _was_ surprised it was working so well. “Why…why do you suck off the sauce before you eat your f-fries?”

“Do I? I hadn’t noticed. I guess I just like ketchup.” He leaned a little closer, pressed one finger inside of her, making her suck in her lip and tilt her pelvis to improve the angle. “You should take a bite, too. People are watching you and wondering why you’re just sitting there.” A broad smile stretched his mouth when her hips jerked forward at his words. “Ah. So that’s your kink. You actually like being watched.”

“No,” Lizzie growled. “I don’t. Shut up.”

“Alternatively, I could talk about the Dyna. Talking dirty isn’t my thing, it makes me uncomfortable, but I’m pretty good at describing a motorcycle.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or roll her eyes at him and tell him to please, shut the hell up about his stupid Harley, but settled for a low grumble that came out rather breathlessly.

“You’re turning all red,” Ressler murmured, and god damn it, he was chewing again, on a piece of cucumber this time.

“Could you… _please_ …stop eating things while you’re…Ahh…”

“ _Someone_ needs to keep up appearances we’re just out here having dinner. Besides, I didn’t have breakfast. Not to pressure you, but are you almost there?”

“No. Keep it up.”

“My arm is seizing up.”

“You started it, you finish it.”

“Hey, do you see that family of five over there? They’re looking at us. See that woman? She keeps shooting glances your way. And the man is wondering why you’re all flushed and panting over your—” “Huhhh!” Lizzie gasped, but he whispered on, “and that waitress over there, with the tattoo in her neck, she _knows_ what I’m doing. In a couple of minutes she’s going to come over to…no, she’s coming over right now…”

“A-ahhhhhh…” Lizzie hid her shuddering, silent cry behind one balled fist, keeping her eyes open while her body shook, and Ressler kept stroking, stroking, until she stopped twitching.

“Ah, no, I was wrong, she’s heading the other way.” He pulled back and wiped both hands on a napkin before taking a drink from his coke, the expression on his face now so satisfied it was almost as if they’d done this the other way around.

Lizzie glared at him. Her heart was thumping in her throat.

“What?”

“That was…awful!”

“Really? I thought you rather enjoyed it.”

She sat up, discreetly adjusted her underwear and skirt and picked up a couple of fries. They hadn’t even gone cold. “You can’t do things like this! You just can’t!” She stuffed them into her mouth.

“I just did.” He stole a piece of cucumber from her plate. “And you didn’t stop me.”

“What if I returned the favour?” she hissed back. “Then you’d see what I mean.”

“Let’s not do that,” Ressler said calmly.

“And why not?”

“Well, for one, because it would become a damn mess. And secondly, because the movement you’d have to make to get me off can’t really be hidden below the table.”

Lizzie stared at him, and he smiled benignly at her. She shook her head and took up her cutlery. “You’re insane.” She cut the last of her burger into tiny pieces. The family Ressler had pointed out was leaving. None of them so much as glanced at her.

“Maybe. I blame it on the drugs.”

The waitress with the tattoo in her neck breezed by, her friendly smile crisp like a well-starched shirt. “Hi. Can I get you anything else?”

“Nah,” Ressler said. He dipped another fry into his tomato ketchup. “I think we’re fine for the moment.”


End file.
